


Red Paints Red Dreams

by InspireFiction



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Gentle, Love, Nervous Sherlock, Other, Spooning, Sweet, loving, paint, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InspireFiction/pseuds/InspireFiction
Summary: Basically, john finds out sherlock likes to paint.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fanfic so i hope you enjoy.

Sherlock was in his flat. His eyes closed and laying in his chair, his legs stuck out to rest lightly on Dr. Watson’s chair. John was running errands and Mrs. Hudson was downstairs listening to music and reading a book. Sherlock's hands were pressed together with his fingers resting under his bottom lip. He opened one eye and smiled gently at the golden smiley face on the wall. He remembered how john came up the stairs and how he left him to stay with Sarah just a few minutes later.  
Oh what an awful night.   
But he couldn't shoot the wall now, as people were unfortunate enough to move in next to him. No, he had to cure his boredom in some other way.   
But how?  
Surely he could find something. Popping up out of his chair he marched stiffly across the living room and down the hall to his room and stared down at his bed.  
Maybe...  
He shook his head. It was too childish. He was a grown man and he had no clue why he even owned them.  
At least you didn't buy those bubbles instead.   
No, he bought the bubbles as well.  
That's right,  i have no self control...  
He sighed as he looked at his dresser which had them hidden under a pile of socks. That was the real reason he was worried about the order of his socks. He chuckled a little and knew that surely no one knew about his love for these sort of things. With a small wince he looked back at his bed. He looked down in shame. What he was about to do would really show what kind of man he really was.  
Sherlock Holmes i thought i raised you differently...  
Then he smiled  
No. Mycroft raised me, which means this is against his rules.  
He giggled maniacly and reached under his bed and pulled out a small wooden case. He brought it into the living room and sat facing the wall with the smiley face. He propped up an easle and opened the case to reveal rows of paints. Reds, blues, yellows, whites, blacks, and everything in between.  
Well now you have them out. What do we do next?  
He thought as he sat with his legs crossed.  
Maybe i could try to draw redbeard...  
He smiled at the memory of his beloved dog, Redbeard. What a gorgeous Irish Setter. He picked out a red and brown paint and put them side by side on his little paint pallette and mixed them with his fingers. The paint, cold to the touch, was soft and easy to move, and it looked even better than it felt to watch it smear across the paper. He smiled and began sloppily layering the acrylic paints on in lobs, trying desperately to paint his beloved pet. He missed redbeard and wanted to see him again. He smiled bigger and bigger as he painted the legs, then the paws, then his head, then the extra long fur, and his ears and tail and nose and eyes. He wiped his fingers on the napkin he'd grabbed before he sat down and reached for the blue.   
Redbeard loved playing in the stream...  
Sherlock grew visibly more and more excited as he painted the water splashing up around his paws and into the fur. Adding more details to the fur like darker browns to make it look wet, he smiled again. He bit his lip in anxiety as he got into a few more difficult parts of the piece.   
Mycroft.  
He sucked in a breath and wiped his fingers again. He decided to paint mycroft in the background throwing stones. A rounded gray and black blob in the back, with pink and tan fingers and face with rosey colored cheeks. He cleaned his finger and sat back a moment to admire his work so far.  
Its awfully blank. I could add grass probably.   
He grabbed the green and made different shades before marking the canvas in rapid lines to make grass. He wiped his finger and stood to go wash up in the sink when he noticed something that made his heart stop. John was sitting on the sofa.   
"John when-..."  
John chuckled at him. "Finger painting?"  
Sherlock’s face reddened. He'd made a huge mistake doing this out in the open where he could embarrass himself in front of john.   
"How long were you there?!" He grunted as he sped to pick up his stuff.  
"About 15 minutes. I believe you were getting the blue paint out around that point? Anyway what did you make?" He asked as he walked over to the canvas.  
Shit!  
He lept as he realized that should have been picking that up first. Now john would see it and not only laugh at his childish nature, but make fun of his art too.  
Too late  
"Wow." John stopped with wide eyes and marveled at it.  
I knew it. Here it comes.   
Sherlock grabbed it away and rushed off to his room l, shutting the door and locking it behind him.   
"Sherlock please come out." John called after him.  
"No! You'll only laugh. It was stupid, i shouldn't have been so childish." Sherlock sighed and sat on his bed and looked at his painting, propped up against the opposite wall. He stared down at his fingers, and picked at the dried flaking paint. Sherlock jumped at the sound of a knock at his door.  
"Sherlock im not going to laugh i swear. Why would i laugh? I honestly liked it!"  
John sounded sincere. Sherlock sighed, knowing he'd regret this. He saw himself stand up and unlock the door and open it, facing john and finding he couldn't make eye contact. He stared down at his feet.   
"Sherlock that painting was very nice. Who's dog was that?" John asked.   
He's not mocking me? He sounds sincere...  
"It's. . . Its redbeard." He stammered.  
John pushed open the door a little. "Sherlock its ok. Can i see?"


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock reluctantly stepped back and picked up the painting, holding it facing himself and close to his chest. John smiled and pushed open the door a bit.   
"Sherlock its fine. It's alright what do you think im going to do?" John asked gently.  
Sherlock looked down at the piece again uncomfortably. "Im not sure. But you have to swear you wont mock me in any way!" He looked up with concern and minor anger.  
John im not angry. Im afraid. Please dont say im childish. Please dont hate me  
John put up both of his hands. "I swear!" He dropped them to his sides.  
I hate this so much  
Tightening his grip on the painting a bit, he clenched his jaw. Slowly he sighed and turned it around and john looked at it.   
He hasn't reacted. His face is so relaxed i can't read it. John?  
John suddenly smiled. "Is that Mycroft?"  
What?  
"Um er yes it... it is... i just showed you a painting of my dog and thats all you have to say about it?!" He said, sounding agitated.   
John smiled even bigger. "Its fine sherlock. Does anyone else know about this?"  
Sherlock scoffed. "Obviously not! You just walked in on me making it how many people do you think know i just painted this?!"  
John shook his head. "The fingerpainting thing."   
How...?  
"Obviously you have more. You were so experienced with this one, and you had the materials. Do you have any other paintings?"   
My clever john...  
Sherlock smiled a little. "Just... over here..." he set the picture down where he'd had it a moment ago and hopped over his bed. He pulled out his bedside table and opened a secret door.   
Surprise...  
John put his hands on his hips and chuckled. "How long has that been there?"  
Sherlock kept pulling out paintings as he answered john "about a month after i moved in there was a long break where there were no cases for about 2 weeks. I couldn't sleep. Mrs. Hudson has no clue I've done this. You're the only one that knows."  
"Honored!" John exclaimed quietly.   
Sherlock awkwardly rolled back over his bed with a stack of about 7 paintings. He slowly walked to john and hesitated. Then sighing he handed them to him. John went over and sat on sherlock's bed. Sherlock followed him awkwardly and sat next to him, crossing is feet and putting his hands in his lap and staring down. John looked at each one for a long time. Obviously staring at each stroke and thinking deeply.  
{Switching to jawns pov :3}  
The first one was just a street as it seemed. A taxi was sitting there. Then he realized that was bakerstreet! And john was climbing into the cab...  
John handed sherlock the paintings individually ashe finished looking at them. The next one was of the flat. There was the fireplace. And there, john asleep with a newspaper?   
Odd, i didn't even notice...  
He remembered waking up and saying that he must have fallen asleep. Sherlock had smiled and looked out the window and began hiding his face with his hands. Now john knew what the red coloring on his hands was. John now smiled at the painting. He noticed how carefully john was painted. The rest of the flat looked nearly half assed compared to how detailed john was. He handed it to sherlock. The next one was the view from sherlock's room. He could see John's chair from there. And there he saw himself sitting in his chair playing on his phone.  
Again, john was very detailed and very well done, while the rest was sloppy and fast. John handed the painting to sherlock and saw that the next one was a hand. It was smudgey but he could see the sleeve of his own favorite jumper on the arm. It was relaxed and drooping. There didn't seem to be anything special about this one but again it was so very detailed that he looked up at sherlock. He was watching John closely but looked away and hid his face when john looked. John smiled and handed him this one too.  
There's still 4 left and they have all been of me...  
He saw sherlock's red face when he turned to recieve the hand painting. John sighed sadly as sherlock shuddered and looked away again. "Sherlock these are all really great." He saw sherlock wasn't going to stop looking away so he looked down at the next one. It was just a set of brown eyes. His brown eyes. He could see clear wrinkles on his eyes and his forehead but thats all it was. He chuckled. "You didn't do this in front of me. I've no pictures of myself like this that i know of. You did this from memory."  
He glanced at it one more time before handing it to sherlock.  
The next one was john standing at the window looking down at the street below. He had flowers in his hands.  
I remember this... this was just before a date with Sarah!  
Sherlock looked hurt when john looked at him. He was now staring at the painting in John's hands with red eyes.   
What's wrong?   
"Sherlock?"  
The curly headed man looked up at John with a jump. His eyes held so much... was that pain?!  
Oh sherlock...  
"What's wrong?" He asked softly.  
Sherlock looked dazed for a second, but shook his head and sucked in a breath. "I knew i shouldn't have shown you these! Give them back!" He leapt up and took the 3 paintings john was holding. Gracefully this time, he climbed over his bed and shoved them into the little door in the wall. He locked it and shoved his bedside table back in front of it.  
He ran out and grabbed his coat and scarf.  
"Sherlock where are you going? What are you doing?!" John ran after him as he trotted down the stairs and out the door. It wad raining lightly and sherlock was in his robe. "Sherlock!" He grabbed his coat and ran outside behind him but couldnt see sherlock anywhere. He looked around and saw nothing but an empty street and rain. He decided to just start walking and texted sherlock.   
'Hey. Im going for a walk. Text me when you get home. -JW'  
he sighed sadly and put it in his pocket before walking along the pavement in the cold rain.


	3. Chapter 3

{Sherlock’s pov again :3}  
Sherlock had been walking for hours. It was dark out and no one was out. He stopped under a lamp post, the golden light being the only thing he could see aside from the main road. He dropped to the ground and sat on the curb. He covered his face with his numb hands and let his tears flow. After a moment he ran his hands through his sopping hair. Water streamed down his face. Everything was wet.   
Glad he didn't see the last 2 paintings...  
Sherlock thought fearfully. He reached down in his coat pocket and felt the key to the little compartment. He sighed loudly.  
"Oh john..."  
You've so many questions and i can't answer any of them. I just can't.   
He looked around. Everything was quiet aside from the occasional taxi on the main road and the rain. Sherlock breathed warmly into his cupped hands and stood in the street. A cab drove by, splashing him as he turned to walk home.   
Soaked...  
He groaned.   
Just couldn't make it home could i?  
He put his hands in his pockets angrily and, stepping onto the pavement, began the long walk home.

{John pov again}  
It had been at least 3 hours since sherlock ran out and john had come home after an hour. He worried a lot for his friend. He knew about sherlock's depression and watched him constantly. And now he was out of the flat, in the rain, alone, in the cold. John texted sherlock again.  
'When will you be home? Im worried. -JW'   
No answer for 15 minutes. Now he was very concerned. He threw on his coat and pulled on his boots. He grabbed an umbrella and pulled his phone out preparing to call Mycroft. He was near the base of the stairs when the front door burst open and sherlock came in.  
"Sherlock i was worried sick!"  
Sherlock said nothing. His expression was vacant. He was so still and silent. After about a minute that felt like hours sherlock finally spoke.   
"Hope you weren't waiting for me to eat dinner." Then walked past him up the stairs and into his room.   
"Wasn't hungry..." john drifted off as sherlock shut the door.  
John let out a loud sigh of relief and went up the stairs and sat in his chair. He wasn't tired. He felt as if he could never sleep again and everything was wrong in the world.  
Except sherlock is home.  
He tried to smile but it just came out as a flat line on his face.   
He decided he just couldn't let sherlock be completely alone tonight. He knew he couldn't knock on his door and even considered lying outside it on the floor. Thinking better of it he gathered blankets and propped himself up on the couch with his back closest to the window so he could see if sherlock were to come out. He made sure there were no sounds, not the tv, no music, not even phone notifications were on. He put his phone on vibrate. All to listen for sherlock. He laid there with a newspaper in his hands and his phone on his chest. He laid there awake for god knows how long, until he fell asleep against his every will. When he woke up it was morning and golden light streamed into the living room. He glanced around the room and saw a fresh kettle of tea on the coffee table. It had a single small cup, and it was made exactly how john liked it. He looked into the kitchen as he realized he could hear the sink running.   
Could be sherlock...  
He leapt off the couch and went into the kitchen to see him washing a plate.  
Sherlock stopped and turned off the water. His face was solemn and sad. He looked at john miserably.   
"Morning john. I made you tea." He said quietly so john wouldn't have heard him had there been any other sounds in the entire flat.  
"Morning sherlock. How long have you been up?"  
"Didn't sleep." He replied just as quietly.  
John nodded understandingly.  
"I see."  
There was a long silence.  
"You know, sherlock, those paintings are fine. And we dont have to talk about them, i just want you to know-...." sherlock tried to run back past john to his room but john put his hand on the counter and blocked him.   
"Its fine. All of it."  
Sherlock was visibly panicked. John lifted his hand and let him run into the living room. But he stopped.  
Why did he stop?  
He just stood there. He stood very still for a while. John was too afraid of scaring him away to say or do anything. After a long moment that dragged on for hours sherlock finally turned back to john with again red eyes.  
"You saw them. Thats what's not fine." Sherlock said with a breaking voice.  
John just couldn't understand why sherlock was so upset over this.   
"And i liked them. I loved them. I look dashing in them." He tried to make sherlock smile, and it nearly worked. The tall man turned and faced him. "John-..."  
John smiled at him questioningly. Sherlock's lips parted a bit like he was trying to speak but nothing came out.   
"Can you keep this a secret?" He finally said.  
"Keep what?"  
"All of it." He said seriously.  
John was a little surprised, of course he would! He was clearly uncomfortable with sharing so why would he?  
"Of course i will sherlock. I wouldn't do that to you."   
Sherlock smiled gently. It was the first time since before sherlock showed john his secret.  
John couldn't help but widen his smile at sherlock's clear relief.  
How much faith does he have in me?  
John watched sherlock as he slowly turned, watching him from the corner of his eye as he even slower, walked into his room and shut the door. John chuckled to himself and went into the living room to drink the tea sherlock made for him.


End file.
